


Rites of Passage

by feelsnotfeelings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, which i've since lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelsnotfeelings/pseuds/feelsnotfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean made a bet he didn't know he could win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rites of Passage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionalguysarethebest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalguysarethebest/gifts).



“Trenchcoat. 2 o'clock. Double— no,  triple dog dare you,” Charlie laughed into the neck of her beer bottle.

Dean snatched it away and took a long pull.

“Oh come on, that hasn’t worked on me since— ”

“Last week?” Sam cut in with a grin.

Dean pretended he didn’t hear that over the shouting from the trivia crowd, some bullshit over a technicality. Leave it to Sam and Charlie to drag him to the absolute nerdiest bar they could find. At this point he should have probably been thankful it at least didn’t have a theme like that ridiculous Doctor Who place they went on about.

Charlie was undeterred. “I can understand if you think he’s out of your league. He does have that… absent-minded professor thing going on.”

Dean rolled his eyes but followed the jut of her chin across the room to appraise the man in question. He sat hunched over the bar, a tawny trenchcoat half bunched under him, half hanging like a pennant. His reflection in the mirrored backsplash showed messy dark hair bent over a nest of papers and what looked like a whiskey, neat.

Intriguing.

“Bet you next week’s groceries I can get his number.”

Charlie’s eyebrows twitched a little at the wager.

She hesitated, but he’d already run a hand through his hair and shrugged out of his jacket. Sliding out of the booth, he flexed at her, and she shoved him the rest of the way with a muttered “You fucker.”

Sam settled back into his seat to enjoy the show. Good. He could learn a thing or two

The racket from the trivia horde had died down, but Trenchcoat didn’t look up, even when Dean leaned on the bar, decidedly inside his personal space.

“Interesting setting for paperwork. I hope it’s not important.”

The man finished scribbling something at the bottom of a page and looked up, giving Dean a casual once-over.

“To me, no. To others I suppose it might be,” he replied with an altogether unconcerned expression.

_Abort. A-fucking-bort._  Because this guy was as out of his league as Charlie had joked. Tired, unguarded eyes, a nose edged like a sword, and an unshaven chin that he wanted to  _bite_ for heaven’s sake. Wrap it up in a whiskey-soaked voice and Dean nearly choked on his.

So he looked down at the bar top— searching for anything to say other than the glories that threatened to tumble out of his mouth— and saw that the papers were essays.  

Krissy Chambers  
Anthro 1080  
Dr. Morrison  
Rites of passage

Adam Milligan  
Anthro 1080  
Dr. Morrison  
Rites of passage

Josephine Barnes  
Anthro 1080…

“So,  _professor_ , did you give too tough an assignment?” he managed after an uncomfortable silence.

“I wish,” Trenchcoat spat. “Then I could give everyone an F and go home. I’m just the TA burdened with grading for the…  _assbutt_ that promised a one-week turnaround on all— do I really look like I could be a professor?”

He interrupted his own rant, sounding oddly flattered, and Dean nodded.

“Had me fooled.”

A pleased smile spread Trenchcoat’s already expansive lips even wider. This had to be the strangest pickup Dean had ever attempted, or at least the most honest. Still, the guy seemed receptive, so he pressed on.

“Look, I’m sure you want to get this— ” He gestured to the puddle of essays. “ — over with, so I’m gonna be honest. I saw you across the bar and you seemed—  _seem_ interesting. Can I get your number, and maybe we could get to know each other better?”

It was damn near impossible to look up at someone through your lashes when they were sitting down, but Dean did his best.

The guy leveled a puzzled, oblivious stare. “How can you tell if someone is interesting from across a room?”

A straightforward yes or no would’ve sufficed.

“Trenchcoat, papers, whiskey. You could be the next Hemingway for all I know.”

Dean shrugged externally while mentally calculating the cost of food for all three of them for a week. The figure weighed against his bookstore wages was enough to make him desperate.

“And can I be extra honest with you?”

He paused, bit his lip.

A squint. Boy, could those eyes turn suspicious fast.

“I kind of made a bet that I could. Get your number, I mean. And I know it’s a jackass move, and I deserve to lose it, but I really can’t afford to. So, what do you say to just giving me a fake number and I buy you your next drink?”

Dean prayed to every god he could think of that this guy would understand and take pity on him. The sound of tearing paper, and then ten cramped digits scooted toward him.

“You should’ve led with that.”

“Shit, man, I could kiss you,” he said, laying a hand on Trenchcoat’s shoulder, then blushed as he realized how it sounded.

Trenchcoat waved away his fumbled apology, already scribbling an excuse to the student whose assignment he’d ripped. Dean flagged down the bartender and pulled out his wallet, exchanging the scrap of paper for a twenty that he slapped down next to the dwindling whiskey. He nudged a new glass toward Trenchcoat with a grateful smile and left with his table’s next round, generous in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be buying groceries that week.

"Well you were almost right— overworked TA,” he said, plopping down and passing Charlie her Thighslapper.

“So you got his digits?” she asked.

“Weren’t you watching?”

“She was too busy getting her ass handed to her in trivia,” Sam said.

Dean blinked, long and hard. “Guys, no. Not you too.”

“Only because it was history,” Charlie said. “Give me literally anything else and your ass will never even leave the Shire, Samwise.”

Sam looked doubtful but let it be and turned back to Dean.

“So, I hear we’re eating on Charlie’s dime this week?”

She held up a hand and said, “You know, that was a pretty hefty wager. I’m gonna need proof before we settle up.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at her and pulled the slip of paper out of his wallet, brandishing it. Charlie snatched it away, slid his phone across the table and started entering numbers.

“You can’t call him now— we’re in the same bar for fuck’s sake! He’s gonna think I’m a total creep,” he protested, the words sandbags in the path of his rising panic.

Her thumb hovered over his fate— “Duh, how else are we gonna know it’s really him?” — and sealed it.

Dean watched Trenchcoat in the mirror, hoping there was a god of serendipity and that they would hear him even if he didn’t call them by name. Miracle of miracles, Trenchcoat retrieved his phone from his pocket and scowled down at it.

“Enough, you know it’s him.”

Dean reached for the phone, but Sam dragged him back as Charlie hurried to put the call on speaker.

“Charlie, hang  _up_.”

“Hello?”

_Whiskey_ — gone rocky over the line. But  _whiskey_. His eyes closed in relief.

“Hi, you wouldn’t happen to be a handsome, Trenchcoated TA would you?” Charlie asked, eyes twinkling like she’d taken lessons from Dumbledore himself.

“Charlie, it’s him.”

Dean met Trenchcoat’s eyes in the mirror. Motioning for Charlie to hand him the phone, he put it to his ear still on speaker.

“Correct. A- for you.”

Trenchcoat’s murmur was a shout, and Dean fumbled to adjust the volume.

“Why only an A- ?”

“Formatting issue. The convention is to wait until you’re no longer in sight of a person before you engage in a phone conversation with them.”

Dean chuckled.

“Speaking of conventions, I forgot to introduce myself. Dean Winchester.”

“I believe it’s customary to shake hands during an introduction, if you’re able,” Trenchcoat said, then hung up and spun in his seat to await Dean’s approach.

Catcalls followed Dean booth to bar, and his ears burned as he offered his hand.

“Dean.”

“Cas Novak.”

Cas held both his hand and his gaze longer than was customary, long enough that Dean had to gulp and lick his lips to soothe his dry mouth.

“So you were fucking with me. How long were you gonna let me think I struck out?”

“I recognized you from the bookstore. I’m in there a lot, figured I’d run into you eventually.”

“You’re kind of a dick, aren’t you?” Dean asked without venom.

“You could find out for yourself, if the offer to get to know each other still stands?” Cas asked, angling his head unsubtly toward the empty seat next to him.

He considered the offer. Cas was gorgeous, in a sort of accidental, oblivious way. Dean also had to admit he kind of admired the guy’s aggressive apathy, especially since Dean had a way of caring altogether too much about everything.

“What about your grading?”.

“They were all going to fail anyway,” Cas said, using his pen to clip together the remaining papers.

No arguing with that. 


End file.
